Pole Addiction

Please note the fitness center that recently appeared at the end of my street. I took this picture from my hiding spot behind a bush.

Upon further inspection, I found the studio to be dark and empty. This "sign" appears on both the door and window. I say drug cover.

Conversations in Retail: First Installment

Four days a week I am tasked with the rather unglamorous duty of spending nine hours answering phones at a car dealership for low-income citizens. Tedious conversations ensue. I am hoping to post regularly with detailed accounts of the tedious-ist.

Scene: Paula is sitting in her cubicle, eating a cup of yogurt and looking at Facebook. The office is quiet except for the sound of typing and a buzz of fluorescent lights. Large window panes reveal a gray sky and an expansive lot of haggard looking vehicles. The phone rings. Paula puts down her spoon and picks up the receiver.

Paula F.(with mild enthusiasm): Thank you for calling ---Auto Sales. This is Paula, how can I help you?

Fast talking customer (with indistinct accent): Paula I am looking at the website and I am seeing a 1995 T-t-t-Toyota Camry. Is this true?

PF: Let me see...I have a 19-

FTC: Is, is the 1995 Camry. It is 1995. What are you trying to say?

PF: If you're looking for the 1995 Camry, it's sold. We have a 19-

FTC: I am seeing the 1995, this is what I'm looking for. Do you still have it? It is sold?

PF (with increasing irritation): If you'd give me a chance to speak, I'd tell you that we no longer have the 1995. We have a 1990 Toyota Camry.

FTC: Oh, oh, oh. OK. Yes and that is there. Ok so we will come. And thank you Paula, so you have a 1990. Ok, ok. Thank you, bye. We will be there.

PF (concealing laughter): Ok? Bye.

Paula hangs up the receiver and resumes staring at the computer screen. 15 seconds pass, the phone rings again. She picks up the receiver.

PF (again with enthusiasm): Thank you for calling ---Auto Sales, this is Paula. How can I help you?

FTC (panicked): Uh, uh, uh yes Paula. How do you get there? 75, 75. And exact address? We need to get there. And we need to come. The 1990 Camry.

PF: Ok, we're at 714 W. Potter.

FTC: 783 Toppert? T-O-P-P? We will GPS?

PF (frustrated): No, 714 W. Potter. P-O-T-T-E-R.

FTC: Ok, ok. 815 E. Potts Ave. Uh, uh, ok.

PF: 7.1.4. W. P. - O. - T. - T. - E. - R.

FTC: Ok, ok, ok. Ok, ok. Yes we will come. And there are two or three Camrys that we will be seeing?

PF: No, there is only one Camry. The 1990 Camry.

FTC: Oh, ok. And this is Paula? Thank you Paula, we will see you soon.

The line goes dead. Paula hangs up the receiver and clicks over to Gmail on her computer. 20 seconds pass, the phone rings. Paula picks up the receiver.

PF (with manic enthusiasm): Thank you for calling ---Auto Sales, this is Paula. How can I help you?

Scene.

Youth of Today

I was cruising on the service drive Friday on my way home from work when I noticed a tiny figure poised on the curb. The small child sat calmly reading a book and I, horrified, watched as cars barreled past the pair of pale, skinny legs that jutted into the road. Windows down and music up, I whooshed past and thought to myself "Jesus. Someone should really do something about that kid." A half mile later I was looping back around.

Due to a parking miscalculation, I ended up a block down from the boy and as I approached him I felt an inexplicable nervous anticipation. There he sat, still seemingly absorbed in his reading, completely oblivious to the approaching stranger. Was I overstepping my boundary? I paused a few yards away from his perch hoping that he might sense my presence, as to eliminate the awkwardness I felt about my imposition. No such luck, so I chose my moment to speak.

"Hey, I'm Paula...what's your name?" is all I could think to say. My experience with children is extremely limited.

To my surprise, the child didn't seem the least bit jolted by my sudden appearance. He simply looked up from his book, proclaimed "A.J.," and promptly hopped up to get a closer look at me.

I felt myself draw back as I wasn't expecting such unquestioning amiability (and his close proximity brought to my attention his general lack of cleanliness), but then I remembered my purpose and said, "Well, A.J., I noticed you sitting here on the curb when I drove by and was worried about you. Did you know you could get hit by a car by sitting this close to the street?"

A.J. stared up at me unblinkingly. Not the slightest twitch on his freckled face suggested the least bit of comprehension. Instead he held up his book for me to see; it was Captain Underpants. I hesitantly took the text from his sticky child-hands and gave it a once-over. "Heh heh. Looks funny. Yeah, reading is cool, A.J.! Good for you!" I said, pleased at the opportunity to impress my values on todays youth.

"I can read," he replied, and proceeded to attempt proof of this by spouting off several lines of jibberish.

My brows furrowed, I gave a "Hmm," feeling concern for his lack of English. "Uh, exactly how old are you?" I asked.

"Six," he replied, distracting me from the language issue as he began stroking my feet. "I love your shoes."

At this point I was getting anxious. I had big plans that night and had no intention of screwing them up because of some weird little kid I met on the side of the road. I tried reiterating my point about playing in traffic a few more times, including an attempt at making him pinky swear that he'd never do it again. We'd been standing on the small strip of grass between the sidewalk and road up until this point, and I finally managed to get him onto the sidewalk. He wanted me to stay and read with him when I said I had to leave.

"OK, but see you tomorrow, right?" he eyed me expectantly.

"Uh, yeah, sure A.J. Tomorrow," I replied, hoping to alleviate his clinginess with steadfast compliance. "And remember, no more playing by the road." I waved goodbye and turned to leave.

He plopped down on the sidewalk and waved back. As I walked away I could feel his eyes on me all the way down the block, so I looked back to wave again. He was sprawled bizarrely on the cement, limbs askew and red-head propped up by a zigzagged neck.

"See you tomorrow, Paula!" he called. "I love you!"

Those words hit hard. Images began flashing through my head: shots of his blackened feet, his waxy ears, his big, brown trusting eyes. The sad, shabby house in front of which he sat, screen door open to reveal only darkness inside. A sole pink plastic Easter egg that lay the porch.

Where were this kid's parents? How could anyone leave such a small helpless thing out by the freeway with no supervision? It physically pained me to imagine poor little A.J.'s potentially loveless home life. What if no one ever told this odd little child that he was loved?

I don't know if it was the right thing to do, but I had to say it. "I love you too, A.J.! See you tomorrow..."

He looked pleased, and finally turned his attention back to Captain Underpants. As I drove away, I watched the tiny figure in my rear-view mirror recede into the distance.

Wednesday Night Revelation

It takes me a while to digest things sometimes. Passages I read in high school are just now taking a conscious shape within me, and I'm still soaking up lessons my dad taught me long ago. That's why I needed to wait a few days before I wrote anything about my experience seeing tUnE-YarDs Wednesday night at the Pike Room. What was intensely reverberating in my heart forty-eight hours ago has now softened to gentle waves; I'm ready to verbalize.

Though the music was tantalizing, it was something more that engulfed me so entirely. A Picasso-like image of Merrill Garbus floated before me like a vision the whole drive home; I saw her strikingly pansophical blue eyes amidst a billow of feathery fuchsia and I knew a shift in my world had taken place. I can't pinpoint exactly what it was that struck me so hard, but I feel stronger and surer because of it.

Last night I walked through my neighborhood just before twilight and felt a deep calm. The air and I were still. The lilacs were in bloom. I felt neither rushed to get where I was headed, nor distress at leaving where I'd been.

There is an importance in being both greatly affected by the world and allowing yourself to remain impervious. I'm just learning that, and a lot of other things.

Sitting Hens Do Not Lie in Green Grass

I abhor triteness and banality, especially those phrases so often used that they almost seem to lack meaning altogether. If there's one cliche I can get behind, though, it's this: "Treat others the way you'd like to be treated."

I'm sure it seems pedantic to be writing a blog post about something Jesus said like a hundred years ago, but I just couldn't allow myself to let my worthy adversary go unopposed. We have essential differences, and I'm always right. Like that argument we got into when we worked at the bagel place together in high school: she said the boss would prefer sloppy work done as quickly as possible, I said he would rather have it done right. Guess who won that one?

Anyway, I'll be the first to admit it: there are a LOT of people in this world. Probably at least a million. So what do you think would happen if everyone was allowed to run rampant doing whatever they pleased?

Most likely it would be a lot like living with a certain friend of mine. Make-up stains and dirty tissues polluting all the counters. Globs of sour cream and fish scales trailing across the kitchen floors. Everyone would be eating out of garbage cans and interrupting each other. Life would be chaos! Nothing would ever get done!

It just wouldn't make any sense.

I've personally discovered that we're all born with a responsibility to not get in each others way as much as possible. In other words, we must get in each others way as little as possible. It may not be easy, it may not be fun, but it's right. Statistics say that if at least 50% of people acted with little or no disregard for 100% of people, 75% of all people would be miserable! And that's not fair.

So the next time you're out in public having a quiet conversation with a friend and some out of control stranger bursts in with an undue interruption, just look up at them with a blank smile on your face while your partner grudgingly agrees to comply with them. Consider it your duty to humanity.

"Violet, let's procreate"

I was in the bathroom this morning when I heard my fine roommate and dear friend, Mike, walk into the living room. My new career has kept me so busy the past few days that I haven't had the chance to see him very much, so I stopped what I was doing and went out to talk to him.

He was sitting at the corner of the couch (his usual resting place) wrapped in a blanket looking oh-so-cute and sleepy.

"I feel like I never see you anymore," I said with a frown.

"Come here," he said, lifting the blankets slightly and gesturing to himself. "Get in here with me."

I stood for a few moments, debating, before finally nodding and sitting on his lap. He wrapped his blanket-winged arms around me and said:

"I'm naked."

First Thoughts:

After over four years apart, my best friend and I are back together again...living in the same house, no less. As pleased as I am with my new situation, I can't say it came about without a certain amount of internal conflict. For whatever reason, I've always subscribed to the notion that personal growth comes as a result of changing ones geographic location. After returning home from college last summer, a long winter ensued of alternately resigning myself to a life sentence in metro-Detroit and designing panicked and ill-thought out plans to escape (including farm work in Hawaii, teaching English in the Philippines, and most recently, performing housekeeping duties on a ranch in rural Montana). But over the past few months, a revelation has been percolating in my bloodstream: true growth can only really ever come from within.

That doesn't mean I don't recognize that being in a new location can be truly inspiring; traveling is its own sort of high, and I plan to see as much of the world as I can. I don't doubt the importance of experiencing new cultures and meeting different kinds of people. To be sure, these things all contribute to a full and rich life. What I'm saying is I don't want to feel limited by my location, like I'm jipping myself. And since I've been back, I've experienced a Detroit I never knew was here. I can't think of the last time there was a dull moment.

The plan for this blog is for me and Big V to spend as much time as we possibly can doing what we love to do, seeking inspiration from our surroundings and the people we encounter along the way. Stay tuned to see where it goes from here.